


we were magic together

by felicities



Category: Broadway RPF, Wicked - All Media Types, Wicked - Schwartz/Holzman, Wicked RPF
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-10 22:13:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18669400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felicities/pseuds/felicities
Summary: Kristin and Idina, from mesmerizing auditions and inevitable goodbyes and the heartache that carries on year after year.





	1. and too little to hang onto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a silly crush, borne out of her break-up with Marc. She's lonely, and she’s bored. That's all this is, she tells herself late at night just before her eyes flutter shut. Nothing more.

“I promise not to carry you around with me like a mistake or a pack of gum, even when I forget what you taste like.  
when they ask me about you,  
I will always smile.  
I will say your name and it will sound  
like ‘thank you.’”  
— Caitlyn Siehl, “What I’ll Tell Them,” What We Buried

 

—

 

Their first meeting is not at all how Kristin imagined it would go. Idina's sitting next to her in a cozy rehearsal space in downtown Manhattan, the two of them surrounded by a small, intimate group made up of cast members, not yet Joel or Norbert; principal creatives—already including Joe, of course; a few representatives from Universal, and a pianist.

 

Kristin knew Idina from _RENT_. What New Yorker hadn't seen that show? And even if she didn’t, it was impossible to be a performer on Broadway in 1996 and not hear about the twenty-five-year old brunette who mooned audiences eight shows a week at the Nederlander.

 

Kristin remembered Maureen to be feisty and fiery and passionate. She was sure of herself, never doubtful. The woman sitting next to Kristin was all those: feisty, fiery, and definitely passionate, but she had an air of shyness and reservedness about her that allured Kristin, though Kristin of course would refuse to admit it to anyone, herself or otherwise.

 

Kristin Chenoweth, you see, is the best cheerleader anyone could ever ask for. She's fiercely loyal, oftentimes to a fault—so much so that if she feels that those she's rallied behind have been betrayed, her grudges become nourished and tended _very well_. When Stephen told her that the producers have thought a young Stephanie Block to be too much of unknown (“They said they couldn’t afford to have their million-dollar risk sink to the ground, so they need a bigger name, Kristin.”) she had been upset. She didn't fight it, because she knew she had no power in that regard, and Kristin hated feeling powerless.

 

So she did the next best thing: whoever was to replace her beloved Stephanie was to be resented, and resented _hard_.

 

But the woman sitting next to her bites at her nails and giggles to herself and looks at the floor more often than she does at people. And when Idina sings, Kristin forgets where she is for a moment. (She wonders when she started thinking in cliches.) Idina’s voice is beautiful. Kristin remembers it sounding a lot harsher as Maureen; unrelenting screams and a lack of vocal training. Marc had chided her then: “She sounded perfect, sweetheart. Not everyone has to sound like they went through Birdwell, you know.” She's glad she’s no longer with him.

 

As Elphaba, Idina’s voice is strong, capable. It’s sweet, and soft, and mild, but powerful and controlling when it wants to be—when Idina _needs_ it to be. It mixes beautifully with Kristin’s own. After the reading, Stephen approaches them both and says, awestruck: “I’ve never seen or heard anything like that. You guys are magic together. It’s like you've always been meant to be.”

 

Kristin smiles up at Idina. Her resentment had melted away somewhere between _Making Good_ and _What is This Feeling_. She looks at Idina and Idina looks back at her, crinkles around the eyes, and all Kristin feels is warmth. “Magic together, huh?”

 

Idina smiles, but excuses herself—her boyfriend’s waiting for her—and Kristin's stomach sinks, though she’s not entirely sure why. She waves goodbye, and Idina waves back at her before stepping out into the rain.

 

Kristin thinks about how she’ll have to go back to her empty apartment soon. The thought, now more than ever, makes her feel lonely. She asks Amy and David out for drinks and the distraction works, until it doesn’t, until she's in a cab home thinking about how she and Marc were a ticking time bomb from the very beginning. Before bed, her thoughts drift back to her new co-star: the crinkles around her eyes, how she lifts her hands to her mouth every time she laughs—or guffaws, really. The warm feeling returns.

 

—

 

Kristin has dinner with Stephanie the next evening. “How was she? She was perfect, wasn’t she? I bet she’s perfect. I saw her in _RENT_ ,” Stephanie says, all in one breath.

 

"She _was_ perfect. But I’m sure if it were you you'd have been a million times better," Kristin offers.

 

"How the winds have changed, Kristi. I thought you hated her?"

 

"I tried," Kristin says, taking a bite out of her brussels sprouts. "But she was wonderful. I was expecting Maureen, you know? I was expecting grit and maturity and all that."

 

"Was she not mature as Elphaba?"

 

"She was. It's hard to explain, Steph. But she's perfect as Elphie. She's passionate and fiery but also timid and demure. She knows where her weaknesses are but she also knows how strong she can be and she doesn't shy away from that." Kristin talks a mile a minute, much to Stephanie's amusement.

 

"I'm glad she's your Elphie, kid."

 

"Huh?

 

"You seem really happy with her. I'm glad. I mean – if it can't be me, at least you're with someone you like, you know?"

 

"Oh. Yeah," Kristin says.

 

"Ah, Kristi Chenoweth smiling into her soup because of that ‘twenty-five-year old who mooned audiences at the Nederlander.’"

 

"Hey!"

 

"Your words, not mine, Kristi."

 

Kristin crumples a napkin in her first and throws it at Stephanie. "Funny."

 

How the winds _have_ changed, Kristin thinks. How the mighty have fallen. Not even twenty-four hours ago, she’d sworn to hate Idina forever. And yet here Kristin is, talking to Stephanie about her new co-star, leaving out parts like the scintillating energy between her and Idina, or Kristin forgetting what her line is when Idina throws her head back and laughs, exposing the soft skin of her neck, or Kristin being absolutely, completely spellbound.

 

In Kristin’s defense, no one needs to know, after all.

 

It’s a silly crush, borne out of her break-up with Marc. She's lonely, and she’s bored. That's all this is, she tells herself late at night just before her eyes flutter shut. Nothing more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from _say it_ by maggie rogers


	2. something inside me surrenders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She settles into Idina’s arms, weeping under a thousand stars in front of a beautiful, vast ocean.

The road to _Wicked_ is long and arduous.

 

She quickly learns how much pressure it is to star in a musical backed by a corporation. Universal is breathing down their necks, Joe reminds her constantly, as does Stephen, and Winnie, and David, and Marc. Stephanie is softer on her, Joel too, and Idina most of all, but Kristin still often disappears up into the light rigs a sobbing, broken mess. Here’s something Kristin Chenoweth’s always wanted: to star in something that can potentially become a hit musical, but the show hasn’t even opened in _San Fran-fucking-cisco_ and she’s already strained her neck and activated her insomnia.

 

She thinks back to their first week in rehearsal, how nothing went right, how it wasn’t at all what Kristin dreamt of. She can’t keep up with the choreography, poor Idina is battling a cold and can’t hit most of the notes, Joe is being a fucking nightmare. The day takes its toll on Kristin and she snaps at Idina, looking every bit like the cruel, bitchy diva taking it all out on some young, innocent ingenue.

 

“You know what? _Fuck you_ ,” Idina says, and storms off.

 

Kristin freezes in her tracks, her heartbeat accelerating in her chest. “Would you _please_ for the love of _God_ fucking _fix it_ , Kristin?” she hears Joe scream from the other side of the room. Stephanie tries to approach her, but she runs after Idina instead.

 

She catches sight of Idina just before she turns right into a room and slams the door. “Idina,” Kristin starts. “Can I come in?”

 

“Do whatever the fuck you want. You always get your way,” Idina says, her back to Kristin.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Why do you always take it out on me?” Idina asks her, facing Kristin.

 

“I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

 

“I’m sorry I took Stephanie’s place, okay?”

 

“What?”

 

“You’re still mad that I replaced Stephanie. That you’re not doing _Wicked_ with her. That she’s not your Elphie. I get it. I’m not welcome here. But they offered me the role. I couldn’t say no to it.”

 

“Idina—”

 

“I guess I impressed them somehow. I guess I’m good in their eyes. That there’s something in me. And I’m sorry if you can’t see that. I’m doing my fucking best to show you I’m worth it. I’m sorry I’m not fucking perfect like you.”

 

Kristin’s breath stops.

 

“I’m sorry, Kristin.”

 

Kristin watches Idina fall apart in front of her. She approaches tentatively, waiting for Idina to step back or tell her to stop. Anything. Anything at all. Anything that’ll keep her from throwing herself at Idina. But Idina says nothing and does nothing, so Kristin finds herself taking Idina’s hands, thumbing at the back of her palms. “Idina,” Kristin says, looking up at her. “I’m sorry.”

 

Idina looks at her with sad, tear-filled eyes, and Kristin feels her heart break in half. “It’s not… It’s not you,” she says, unable to find the right words. “It’s not at all you.”

 

“I don’t hate you, Idina. I don’t think you’re unwelcome here. I saw you that first day two years ago and I heard you sing and laugh and and open up as Elphaba and you’re perfect. You’re magnificent. And I want to know you, Idina. I want to know you beyond Elphie.”

 

“I’m sorry it felt like the opposite. I’m an expert at hiding my real emotions that sometimes I come off as a completely different person. And the show,” Kristin says, trying to hold back the tears. “It’s too much. It’s only been a week but it’s already too fucking much. But it’s no excuse, Idina. It’s no excuse for my shitty actions.”

 

“I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot. But it’s not you, Idina. It’s not your fault. You’re perfect, darlin’.” Kristin tucks a tendril of loose hair behind Idina’s ear and wipes a tear that has rolled down her cheek.

 

It takes Idina a moment before she smiles, but when she does, Kristin’s feels her heart flutter.

 

—

 

From then on they’re more in tune, more in sync. Idina becomes the only person who can soften Kristin. Michelle has tried. Eden and Joel have come terribly close, but never enough. Lord knows Norbert can’t do it. The moment Idina enters a room, Kristin’s shoulders unknot. Her eyebrows unfurrow. Her voice goes down a pitch. Her usually tearful eyes become clearer, brighter. When she looks at Idina, her gaze lingers; when Idina is near her, her heart beats faster; when Idina sings, Kristin is frozen in place.

 

“She’ll still be there even if you look away, you know,” Stephanie’s standing next to her by the water station. Idina’s singing _No Good Deed_ and Kristin is absolutely mesmerized.

 

“What?”

 

“You’re staring, sweetheart.”

 

“No I’m not,” Kristin insists.

 

“Yes you are, my love,” Stephanie says, sipping from her tumbler and walking away.

 

One night after a particularly hard day at rehearsals, during a moment of weakness, of deep heartache and longing, her resolve nearly breaks. She’s pushing 35 and still she’s alone. Her family Sundays are always full of questions of whether she was finally seeing someone, and it’s getting pretty fucking tiring. It’s also lonely. She cries, because it’s all she ever does nowadays.

 

She thinks of Idina, Idina’s smile, Idina’s voice, Idina’s laugh, and it feels like freedom. In some unusual way, Kristin feels as if she is in love.

 

—

 

She sits next to Eden on the plane. She’s popped an Ambien before stepping foot onto the tarmac, so she spent the whole flight out like a light. When they land, Eden’s turned into Idina.

 

“Hi, angel,” Idina smiles.

 

Kristin’s eyes flutter open. She smiles. “Where’s Eden?”

 

“First car to the hotel.”

 

“Well, she sure is ready to party, huh?”

 

Idina laughs. Kristin feels unbearably warm, again.

 

They have a week’s worth of rehearsals before they open at the Curran. At this point they've got the show down pat, but it still doesn't feel like it's shining. The summer air is stifling and relentless, and Kristin’s aching to be somewhere that isn’t the theater or their hotel, so she asks if Idina would take a walk with her to the pier.

 

There is no wind, but the stars are out, and the moon is partially tucked behind clouds. The water is calm, but ebbing, and Idina’s skin glows softly under moonlight.

 

They talk little, mostly kicking rocks away or picking up a stick and letting it drag behind them. Kristin finds that even though it’s mostly quiet between them, it’s not intolerable or awkward. They find a spot near the pier and Kristin pulls Idina down to the sand.

 

“You could’ve used words, Chenoweth.”

 

Kristin’s heart leaps at Idina’s use of her last name. It feels like middle school, when a boy you liked used your surname to tease you before they said something that melted your heart.

 

“I’m tired,” Kristin tells Idina honestly. “Of the show.”

 

“I can tell,” Idina says. She tells Kristin how she’s noticed that her energy has slowly been diminishing, how she can feel it even when she sings. She’s long stopped being her bright, vibrant self and she’s put on a facade. “And it’s not as bright as you think,” she adds, smiling softly.

 

Kristin is wonderstruck. Idina has gotten so much _right_ and she feels the tears well up in her eyes, stinging to be let out. She tries to stop them, but when the first one rolls down her cheek, the rest follow, and it’s impossible to do anything now.

 

Idina envelopes her in an embrace. “Did I say something wrong?”

 

“No, you didn’t,” Kristin reassures her, and she settles into Idina’s arms, weeping under a thousand stars and in front of a beautiful, vast ocean. Kristin is overwhelmed and she does the unthinkable—though not necessarily the unsurprising: she reaches for Idina’s cheek and pulls her closer.

 

Gravity, for one blessed moment, stops. Kristin feels as though she can hear her and Idina’s heartbeats and nothing else. “Can I kiss you?”

 

Idina nods, and their lips meet. It’s not at all how Kristin pictured this kiss between them. She had envisioned crashing mouths and disheveled hair and hands going every imaginable way, but this, slow and quiet and gentle was infinitely better.

 

When they pull apart, there are no heaving chests or swollen lips, just fluttering eyes and deep sighs.

 

“I think I’m in love with you, Idina.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from _unusual way_ by laura benanti


	3. both of us so unbending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s going to last forever,” she whispers into Idina’s neck. 
> 
> “Which one, Wicked or us?”
> 
> “Can’t it be both?”

That night at the pier leads to many more nights together, the two of them safely tucked away in a local coffee shop, in Idina’s hotel room, in a spot by the beachfront, hidden from plain sight. Kristin tells Idina about Birdwell, her college loves, and her first heartbreak care of a woman. (Idina smiles, unsurprised.) Idina tells her why she accepted Taye’s proposal, what her childhood was like in Long Island, how her sister is her _person_. San Francisco becomes their safe haven, their sanctuary away from reality—Idina’s husband, Kristin’s religion, Idina’s fears, Kristin’s ambition. 

 

The afternoon sun is warm on Kristin’s honeyed skin, and when Idina asks her to smile for her, for the camera, Kristin blows a kiss and says, “For you, Dee? Always.” When Kristin remembers this day, years later, she remembers every detail, but she never sees the photographs again.

 

When the show finally opens on Broadway in the fall they feel like they’re on top of the world. Kristin tells her she knows it’s going to be special. “It’s going to last forever,” she whispers into Idina’s neck. They’re in bed in Kristin’s apartment after the cast party, bone-tired but their hearts and minds still buzzing.

 

“Which one, _Wicked_ or us?”

 

“Can’t it be both?”

 

—

 

Idina lets her hear _Gorgeous_ before anyone else, before _I Stand_ even becomes an inkling in Idina’s head. She feels her way through Kristin’s piano, and after stumbling and stumbling, she looks at Kristin hopelessly. Kristin happily takes over. “Let me play, Dee,” she says, their shoulders touching. “You sing.”

 

After the first few notes, Idina breathes in. She starts quietly, still unsure. “ _In a perfect world, in another time, in a far off place we wouldn’t need to justify_ …”

 

Idina’s voice is tender and mellow, melding beautifully with the soft piano. Kristin feels warm, and unbearably so, and when she looks at Idina she feels like she can’t breathe. Her fingers don’t stop playing, but her mind has gone completely elsewhere, thinking of a life where she and Idina don’t have to hide, where Idina doesn’t have to go home and be held by arms that aren’t Kristin’s, where their love isn’t hidden away in the dark of her apartment or the suffocating pinkness of her dressing room.

 

“ _When all of the beauty turns to pain, when all of the madness falls like rain, as long we crash and we collide, we will be gorgeous, you and I_ ,” Idina sings.

 

Kristin looks at her, eyes bright and glistening.

 

“That’s all I have so far,” Idina says.

 

“It’s beautiful, Dee.”

 

“You really think so?”

 

“Of course.”

 

Idina smiles. She folds the paper in half and walks back to the couch, patting the space next to her. “Come here.”

 

Kristin follows, settling into Idina’s arms. “Marry me,” she says.

 

“I wish I could.”

 

—

 

The rain is beating down on Kristin’s windows. Idina’s asleep on her chest, softly snoring. “ _And when we can’t be heard_ ,” Kristin starts, “ _and when we can’t be seen…_ ” She hums the rest of the verse.

 

Idina stirs in her arms. “That sounds good. Continue it,” she whispers, eyes still closed.

 

“ _I will call you close and you will reach for me_ …” Kristin sings quietly.

 

Kristin looks at the woman half-asleep in bed with her. Warmth engulfs Kristin once more, reminding her of the bright summer sun kissing her skin back in San Francisco. She thinks of warm coffee in her hands, warm water showering her and Idina’s bodies in their hotel. She thinks of Idina’s laughter, how contagious it is; Idina’s smile, how blinding yet comforting. Kristin sighs, and she thinks she can stay like this, forever. Writing music and falling asleep next to the most beautiful woman, the rain continuing its assault outside. “ _This city wants to fight but it can’t touch us anymore_ …”

 

—

 

They don’t go unscathed, of course.

 

“I’m leaving the show,” Kristin tells her. She’s sitting at her vanity in her dressing room, donning Glinda’s dress for the start of the second act. Her dresser squeezes past Idina by the door, muttering excuses about how she has to go check on Michelle and Carole.

 

Idina closes the door behind her.

 

“When?”

 

“July.”

 

“Why, Kristi?”

 

“I’m tired, Dee.”

 

“I’m tired too. But am I quitting?”

 

“It’s not just that—”

 

“We’d leave the show together, Kristin. That’s what you promised. Our contracts are up by the start of next year. Can’t you wait a little more? I’m here, Kristi,” she says. Kristin catches the change in her name—she knows Idina’s being absolutely serious when she drops the ‘n.’ “I thought I made this worth it.”

 

“Idina—”

 

“Please, Kristin. You have to stay,” Idina continues, her disposition changing. She’s gone from a request to a _command_. ( _A command bordering on begging_ , Kristin thinks.) “You have to stay with me. I can’t do this without you.”

 

“Aaron Sorkin asked me to do his show.”

 

“ _The West Wing_?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Did you say yes?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Idina doesn’t say anything after that, just quietly leaves Kristin’s dressing room before Kristin has the chance to defend herself. Kristin lets her.

 

Kristin _is_ tired. She’s tired of the show. She’s tired of Glinda. She’s tired of having to put up a happy, perky exterior eight times a day—she already does enough of that outside the theatre. She’s tired. She’s so _fucking_ tired. Taye’s come in to step in for Norbert and it’s created a whirlwind—a fight with Idina almost every night, a complete lack of chemistry between Glinda and Fiyero, and her fucking neck is just knocking her off her feet. The road to _Wicked_ is long and arduous, and Kristin’s had enough of it.

 

During intermission, she tells Idina the truth. They don’t stagedoor that night, and Kristin calls in sick for the matinee the following day. “Just a little time apart,” Kristin says, just before leaving the theatre. “We need it.”

 

Idina sees right through her, of course. “We need it? _You_ need it, Kristin.”

 

Kristin stays quiet. She feels a pang of guilt come over her, but her ambition has always been her compass and her career her north star. She’s got her hit musical. She’s got an iconic song that she knows she’ll be singing for years to come. The Gershwin is packed every night, their album sales shooting through the roof. She’s all set. And most importantly, she’s done. Kristin’s got what she’s wanted, and now it’s time to move on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from _the sweetest days_ by vanessa williams


	4. there's plenty like me to be found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re leaving me,” Idina says, turning to face her. Her cheeks are stained with tears, her eyes still swollen, still red from crying—the quiet kind, the kind that Kristin hasn’t at all noticed. 
> 
> And Kristin is always the first to notice things.

Kristin solidifies her decision in late March.

 

In the first week of May, the Tony nominations come out.

 

She makes it a point to avoid Idina at the press junket the day after. The atmosphere is bright and celebratory, but she’d rather be home, away from the throng of photographers in front of her. She spends most of the morning with a familiar presence—Donna asks her how she’s been and they catch up before she’s steered away into a room for an interview. Daphne and Idina are exiting just as she enters, but Idina’s too engrossed in her conversation with Daphne for her to notice Kristin.

 

She’s relieved.

—

 

Idina visits her during _Candide_.

 

“You were wonderful, as always,” Idina tells her in the cab ride back to Kristin’s apartment. The trip home is silent, but Kristin finds Idina’s hand in the dark car and squeezes it, her fingers grazing the base of Idina’s thumb. She looks out the window and tries not to cry.

 

They find themselves in Kristin’s bed, quiet and unhurried. Tonight, as it has been most nights, they don’t talk much. They don’t plead or beg and ask. Kristin lets Idina take control. Idina unzips Kristin’s dress, unhooks her bra, presses her lips to her skin. “Dee,” Kristin says, her voice barely above a whisper.

 

“Mm?” Idina says, venturing down Kristin’s body, finding warmth and want and wetness and when she finally presses her tongue to Kristin’s center Kristin wants to burst into flames.

 

Later, Kristin reaches out to embrace Idina, but her arms land instead on an empty mattress. Her eyes flutter open, and finds Idina sitting at the foot of the bed.

 

“Hey you,” Kristin whispers behind her, hands gliding down her arms. She places soft kisses on her shoulders, down her spine, the small of her back. “Come back to bed.”

 

Idina shivers.

 

“Dee,” she tries again, her caresses firmer. “Come sleep with me.”

 

“You’re leaving me,” Idina says, turning to face her. Her cheeks are stained with tears, her eyes still swollen, still red from crying—the quiet kind, the kind that Kristin hasn’t at all noticed. And Kristin is always the first to notice things.

 

“I’m leaving the show, Idina, I’m not—”

 

“That’s the same thing.”

 

“No, it’s not.”

 

“Yes it is, Kristin. I know you.”

—

 

In the morning, Kristin wakes up alone. Her stomach drops at the thought of Idina leaving before sunrise, but she hears the soft notes of the piano emanating from her living room.

 

She finds Idina at the bench, Maddie sitting by her feet. Idina’s wearing a pink shirt of Kristin’s and Kristin smiles at the sight. “ _And the air is cold but I’m not the same anymore… I’ve been running in your direction for too long now_ …”  

 

“New song?”

 

Idina stops playing and turns around. “Good morning.”

 

Kristin sits at the couch, Maddie running towards her. She places the dog in her lap and rubs its belly. “What’s this one called?”

 

“I don’t have a title yet.”

 

“What’s it about?”

 

“You,” Idina says at once. “It’s about you leaving.”

 

“I can’t wait to hear it. I’m sure it’ll be beautiful.” She knows the remark sounds soulless and unmeant, but she says it anyway. 

 

“You don’t have to leave.”

 

“Yes, I do, Idina.”

 

“Why?”

 

“We’ve been through this.” Maddie is trying to wriggle away from Kristin’s grasp. Kristin lets her.

 

“Just tell me why again.”

 

“Because I’m done with Wicked.”

 

“And me?”

 

“The show, Idina.”

 

“I told you last night, Kristi. I know you.”

 

“If you know me then you know I’m leaving the show, Idina. For the last time. I’m leaving the _fucking_ show.”

 

“Don’t fucking talk to me like that.” Idina glares at her and stands up to get dressed. She is out the door in seconds, slamming it behind her.

 

—

 

She sees Idina a distance away on the red carpet—a vision in purple, her husband right beside her. When they get close to each other on the press line, Idina leans in for a kiss, and Kristin can’t help herself. “[You look beautiful](https://66.media.tumblr.com/1147fe9516f43104611800677cd941a6/tumblr_mspb4jqx0W1qc7yw7o6_250.gif).”

 

She catches Taye’s eyes. He’s smiling, but it looks forced, so she looks away as quickly as she can.

 

Kristin never thought she would win the Tony. She had always rooted for Idina, even as rumors about their feud grew louder and louder. No one has worked harder than Idina and Kristin knows that Idina deserves every accolade she’s received for playing Elphaba. Kristin, much to everyone’s surprise and disbelief, is actually on Idina’s team—even when it doesn’t look like it.

 

Her heart beams when Idina stands onstage, the award in her hand. Her breath stops when Idina says her name, and everything and everyone else melts away. “You are the grace and the light on that stage every night,” Idina tells her, in front of cameras and people and in a voice so strong and sure and Kristin has never been happier. “This is something that we built together and _I love you_.” For one blissful, fleeting moment, she thinks twice about leaving the show.

 

—

 

There’s a particular moment in Wicked that’s always been more Kristin than Glinda—a small touch that she added early in rehearsal almost a year and a half ago. Idina had had a bad day, courtesy of her husband, and Kristin had tried everything to get her to smile. In the end, it figures in the scene in the girls’ room just before Popular, just as they begin to open up to each other for the first time. [ Kristin leans in](https://66.media.tumblr.com/df424f9b6058ceebcde1c1c507e40071/tumblr_osbm0sQlj61vwvwruo1_400.gif), [ wiggles her nose at Idina](https://66.media.tumblr.com/cd3f5bc4c54d40f747502cc9b2a078b0/tumblr_osbm0sQlj61vwvwruo2_400.gif), and every night, without fail, [ it makes Idina break out into a goofy grin](https://66.media.tumblr.com/f916b890765bac6ac6c971a1c33ef09d/tumblr_osbm0sQlj61vwvwruo3_400.gif).

 

Tonight, Kristin forgoes that little moment.

 

Instead, she looks into Idina’s eyes—impossibly green and glassy—and it only takes her a second [ before she looks away](https://66.media.tumblr.com/b53a8a7a19d496a25126423cad77ff27/tumblr_osbm0sQlj61vwvwruo4_400.gif), unable to hold Idina’s gaze.

 

She can’t believe there’s still an hour and a half left.

 

—

 

That first Tuesday after Wicked is when Kristin feels the gravity of her decision crush her. She wakes up at 8, answers emails and takes Maddie out for a walk, and abides by the perfectly-rehearsed routine of her life for the past year and a half, and by noon she feels a vast emptiness come over her. There is no show to go to in the evening. She will not see Idina, or Eden, or Kathy. She will not meet audiences, whether new or returning. She will not slip into bed, exhausted and worn out but fulfilled and content. That first Tuesday is the first Tuesday Kristin stops being Glinda. She’d once thought it would feel like freedom, like deliverance, like the first intake of breath after plunging in cold water. But it feels like nothing of the kind. It feels like desolation, and Kristin can’t fucking breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from _goodbye yellow brick road_ by elton john, but i listened to sara bareilles' version while writing.


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